


Let the whole world wait

by Fict_or_Faction



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: M/M, PWP, Porn Battle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-15
Updated: 2012-02-15
Packaged: 2017-10-31 06:12:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/340831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fict_or_Faction/pseuds/Fict_or_Faction
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the hours before dawn, John does some experimenting of his own.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Let the whole world wait

John emerges from the cocoon of sleep just far enough to sense where he is; to know he’s in his bed and he's not alone. Sherlock is just inches away. There's no real light yet, only an orange glow of streetlamps coming in though a chink in the curtains. He feels warm and ridiculously comfortable and refuses to think about morning. For the moment, he wants to keep the rest of the world at bay. A handful of images of last night flash though his mind, the running, the hiding, an interminable wait and struggling to stay awake in a taxi - all now soaked up by sleep and the night.  
  
He tucks his head under the covers and into complete darkness. Sherlock, warm though from sleep, simply radiates heat and John strokes his cheek over the smooth skin of his chest, and down onto his stomach. There's the mingled scent of both of them – the last notes of aftershave, dried sweat and the wood smell of their hiding place last night, among smuggled timber. The last shocks to the surface the memory of a kiss, unintended and irresistible.  
  
Sherlock’s lower body is covered in soft fine hairs, curlier still than the hair on his head - one of John's discoveries, one of his secrets. He nuzzles his way where they're densest. His friend sleeps on and John decides to risk something he's only as yet imagined. He takes the unsuspecting penis in his mouth. Sleeping, it's still small and malleable. He wets thoroughly. Could you call this cruelty or kindness? Or pure stupidity - provoking a sleeping tiger? Perhaps, if called on it, John would say this was an experiment. Sherlock is such a bad influence.  
  
Thankfully, John doesn't have to be anywhere today and neither, unless the phone rings, does Sherlock. John swirls his tongue around Sherlock's cock, making slow circles, nudging slightly more on each turn. He's slowly but surely coaxing a response, and feels his own following in sympathy. Amazingly, Sherlock doesn't stir. John can feel his efforts paying off, a gradual hardening against his tongue. He's getting distractingly aroused himself at what he's doing and its getting very hot in here, but he's got to keep control, do this perfectly.  
  
There's a murmur from Sherlock, certainly not a complaint, but not coherent encouragement. John increases the pressure. There's a sigh from beyond the bedclothes and Sherlock shifts onto his back. John follows the movement, not letting go. He adds a graze of teeth and slides slowly off and on again.  
  
"Wha-?" Sherlock' mumbles. That’s done it. He's waking. John continues, allowing nothing to deflect him from his course. "John?" But John only replies by plunging his head down in a flurry of licking and sucking. "Ohh..." As realisation filters down to where it matters, John has trouble taking all of Sherlock's swelling erection in his mouth. He keeps moving rhythmically, caressing the tip with his tongue on each pass. "Mmmm." John feels the resonance of the sounds as they form and escape. And then there are hands in John’s hair and Sherlock’s whole form stretches and pushes against him. "Go on..."  
  
Take it slow, he tells himself, putting one hand on the shaft and pushing the other to stroke between Sherlock’s legs, which open at his touch. He's so turned on, it's getting difficult to think straight. Sherlock starts making involuntary thrusts of his hips and keeps up a commentary of urging mumbles. John knows these sounds, the patterns in Sherlock's breathing, feels when he begins to lose control and can almost predict to the second when he's going to come. Sherlock's voice grows into a cry and his movements turn erratic and desperate and John’s mouth is flooded with bitter salt and he's swallowing hard. Sherlock is shuddering and fighting to get his breath, made all the more difficult by the fact that he's laughing.  
  
"Well, good morning." Sherlock's voice is rusty with sleep, worn from his exertions and deeper than usual. It set goosebumps rising all over John's body, despite the warmth of the bed.  
  
John pulls his head free of the bedclothes and watches the outline of Sherlock's chest against the dim light as his breathing calms. He's immensely pleased with himself. He's also very turned and, with Sherlock awake and not going anywhere right now, he's taut with anticipation. At this instant John doesn't want to imagine that the universe extends any further this bed, this. And, as Sherlock’s breathing returns to normal, he starts to caress John's hand.  
  
Then comes the dreaded beep of a message arriving on Sherlock's phone, piercing a tiny hole in their warm bubble that could let the rest of the world crash through behind it. John sighs, now Sherlock will get out of bed and go off in furious pursuit of clothes-phone-door-new case. Sure enough, Sherlock goes to climb over him. But, as he does, John feels a hand trail up the length of his body.  
  
“Stay.” John tries, reaching out to grab Sherlock before he can escape. _Don't tease me if you won't._ And then, instead of breaking the mood, instead of swinging his feet to the floor, Sherlock lets himself be caught by John's arms. He leans over him, his untidy hair making a jagged silhouette and his expression hidden in shadow.

  
"It can wait." he says, hands digging into the mattress either side of John's head. Then, whispered low right against his ear, "There’s nothing that won’t wait." The words send shivers all over John's body and, all at once, there are lips pressed to John's neck and the reassurance of Sherlock's weight pushing him down, back into the nest they've made.  
  
He's more affected than he thought he'd be. Simply sensing the effect he was having on Sherlock was the most intense turn on. And now, with the focus of Sherlock's attention fully on him, it's as though, even here in the dark, he's been caught in a spotlight. It makes John extremely conscious of himself: his shallow, rapid breathing, the blood humming in his ears and just how hard he is, pressed up against Sherlock's thigh.  
  
Then there are arms encircling him, hands stroking, mouth sucking on John's neck until he can feel his own heartbeat against the hot wetness. Can Sherlock feel that? Of course - the man knows what he’s doing and exactly the effect he's having. John draws a long deep breath. Control, control. Its like having all his senses submerged in someone. Sherlock pushes a hand between their bodies and wraps his able fingers around John's erection. For a second John loses all sensation of everything else, He couldn't say anything sensible if he tried, but the deep moan Sherlock pulls from him says everything he feels.  
  
"Go on." Sherlock sounds amused, fascinated, and that’s all the prompting John needs to start thrusting into the fist that’s holding him, rubbing himself against those adorable fingers. This isn’t going to last long. John tries to get a grip on himself, but the harder he attempts to hold back, the more he feels the pressure rising in his head. Then Sherlock starts moving his hand as well, magnifying the sensation. John's done for and knows it he starts pushing as hard and fast as he can. It’s like freewheeling down a hill - reaching the point when you’re just getting faster and faster and know you can’t stop - you're just going to have to ride it out or crash. Sherlock is alternating kisses on any part of John he can reach with words that only bring John closer to the inevitable. A first wave of pleasure, power and exquisite weakness crashes over John. He can't bring himself to care if there’s come all over both of them: its not over. He's get to keep going, this is too good, and pretty soon he won't be able to move at all. Sherlock’s voice, whispering to him, he doesn't take in what he's saying as he thrusts and thrusts until he's totally spent. John’s can hear Sherlock speaking and tries to tune in to the words, but the signals from his body are louder, pulling him back into sleep.  
  
It's only much much later, as the winter dawn finally peeks though the curtains and they wake once more, that John mentally notes his experiment as a success.

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Porn Battle 13, Prompts: experiment, in a dark room.  
> Sherlock BBC and its characters belong to ACD, Moffat, Gatiss and the Beeb. I make no money from this fanwork.


End file.
